


On the Hearth

by gingergallifreyan



Series: Gerald x Betty [5]
Category: A Passionate Woman (TV), The Last September (1999)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Teninch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 10:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13715331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingergallifreyan/pseuds/gingergallifreyan
Summary: Gerald wakes from a familiar nightmare of war, and Betty comforts him.





	On the Hearth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aneclipsedhabitue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aneclipsedhabitue/gifts).



> The title comes from the translation of the Yiddish lullaby _Oyfn Pripetshik_. 
> 
> SO to eclipse for the prompt: Quiet Me, Gerald x Betty (from [this list](http://gingergallifreyan.tumblr.com/post/170980680030/drabbles-send-me-characters-and-a-prompt) of prompts) and for headcanoning that Betty sings to Gerald in Yiddish occasionally.
> 
> If you'd like to see something else from that list of prompts for Gerald and Betty (I'm still sitting on that multi-chap, don't worry), let me know in the comments!

Gerald bolted upright, his chest heaving, his eyes wide in terror, and his forehead gleaming from a sheen of sweat. His fists were clenched in the quilt that covered their bed. He glanced around the dark room, reminded, yet again, he was no longer in the trenches, watching his comrades fall. He was safe, in bed with his loving wife, whom he adored, in their home. Their two children slept safely in the other room.  

Betty stirred beside him, and he silently cursed, ruing the burden he imposed on her when he woke like this. He made his way to the kitchen and started a kettle of water on the stove.

“Gerald?” 

Her voice shook him as steam poured from the spout. He’d zoned out for a few moments.

“I wouldn’t have said anything, but I didn’t want the whistle to wake the children.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he turned down the burner.

She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, her lips pressing to his spine. “Don’t apologize. And don’t apologize for apologizing.” 

He turned in her arms and buried his face in her neck.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

He couldn’t let her go.

“Sofa?”

“Yeah."

Betty pulled a quilt over them as they settled in together, his head on her chest. She stroked his back and softly sang him a lullaby in Yiddish, one she often sang for their children, and soon he was sleeping peacefully in her arms.


End file.
